Loose Tooth?

Sorry about the protracted absence, gang; I've had a busy week. On Monday we hosted a lovely fondue dindin with friends, on Tuesday I had tai chi and last night there was general errand running to be done.

But I am here now to catch all of you up on the latest goings-on with the WalMart Girls and especially Teeth.

It's been a busy week there, too.

This afternoon during break, Mrs. Orange, Sylvester, Mulan and I were sitting in the staff room flipping through the Avon and Regal catalogues. (I am looking for a metal popcorn popper for the Little Hunneydoo and the last time I saw one was in Regal. Alas, it is no longer available there. At least I am spared the embarrassment of having to order from there).

Sylvester pointed to a pair of rubber-soled bedroom slippers and remarked with enthusiasm that they would be perfect for those times she wanted to go shopping. Mulan laughed, thinking that Sylvester was joking. Alas, she was not. Sylvester went on to explain, without a trace of self-consciousness or shame, that she regularly goes to the grocery store (or, of course, WalMart) in her pyjama pants, a t-shirt and slippers. She likes to be comfy, dontcha know.

Mulan was horrified and I happened to glance up at Mrs. Orange, who wore an expression of absolute disgust. As a result of something that happened earlier this week (which I will get to in a second), I have been adopted by Mrs. Orange, and when we made eye contact, we both had to dive back into our respective catalogues to keep from laughing out loud.

Not that Sylvester would apparently be at all unsettled by our mockery. She's one of "those": Poor White Trash is a badge of honour, not a criticism. She's red-necked and proud of it.

She don't got no cultcha, and don't want none, neither.

Later, Mrs. Orange and I made ourselves giggle like schoolkids by suggesting that from now on, everything Sylvester says should be followed by "in my pyjamas". Kinda like that game people play with fortune cookies, where they add "between the sheets" after their fortune:

"You will travel much and meet many influential people...between the sheets".

"The poor seek food, the rich seek an appetite...between the sheets."

Sylvester could be a source of comedic gold for things like, "I'm gonna ask about that driver's unit...in my pyjamas", or "I just finished that bill...in my pyjamas."

Look, the work is repetitive and dull, okay? Don't judge me.

Instead, judge Teeth. Teeth isn't having her best week. It started on Monday morning during the first coffee break, when we were joined by one of the managers that the company is moving out from Ontario. He was interesting and pleasant and made an effort to learn our names and talk to us individually on a personal level. He was a charming and very handsome man.

When he left the room, a couple of the WalMart Girls gave vent to their (largely frustrated) libidos and said something like "Yowza!" or "Whoa, he's hot."

Teeth, in a remarkable display of putting the "ass" back in "class", said, "He's got big feet."

And then she guffawed, showing off her gigantic incisors like she was the guest of honour at a beaver convention.

Now, I am not a prude and I don't think I can honestly be accused of not having a sense of humour. But I am just so sick and tired of her vulgarity, and how every single fucking conversation that involves her has to descend to the lowest common denominator. So I got up and left the room without another word.

And as I left, I heard her say, "Oh, God, she's leaving."

I went back to my desk and began to work, but shortly thereafter was joined by Mrs. Orange, who gave me to understand that she, too, is tired of the coarseness.

"It would be so easy to nail this place with a sexual harrassment case," she said, without apparent irony.

Now, I did not confide in Mrs. Orange (I mean, she is a fucking rat), but I did indicate that I am tired of a lot of the comments made during break, especially those directed at me. She commiserated with me, and said she had endured similar situations at other places based on the fact that she is aboriginal.

And I thought that that would be the end of it. But when I got back to my desk after lunch, there was an email from my supervisor asking me to come see her. And when I answered her summons, she asked me to close the door.

Well, this is the moment every temp dreads: it's either going to be "We'd like to keep you on," or "Thanks for coming; get the fuck out."

Once I was seated, she told me that Head Office Lady had called, wanting to follow up on what I had said about Teeth's harrassing comments, and had I had a chance yet to speak to Teeth.

"Not really," I said. "The difficulty is that Teeth always plays to an audience, and I am reluctant to embarrass her in front of the WalMart Girls. And I don't think that email is the most appropriate approach. Although I did make my feelings known indirectly this morning during break."

She asked me to explain what happened, and I mentioned that Teeth noticed my abrupt departure, as did the rest of them. This seemed to satisfy Immediate Supervisor on some level, because then she said, "Would you like us to have a talk with her? Because we are ready to move forward on this."

I was, I confess, a little nonplussed; I had expected the company to sit on this potentially inflammatory situation until I forced the issue by bringing it up again the next time Teeth opened her yap (which is, I'm sure you know, inevitable).

I replied that if they felt that was suitable I would appreciate someone talking to Teeth because I wasn't the only one to find her offensive, and I simply couldn't imagine the trouble resulting if someone like the new manager overheard her remarks about his "feet". She nodded and mentioned that a word would be had.

"And I want you to know," she said, "that this isn't normal. And we want you to be comfortable."
I thanked her genuinely for her time and concern and mentioned that if I managed to have a private chat with Teeth, I would let her know.

Now you gotta understand, people--Teeth has been with this company for ten years. She's quick to remind anyone who even remotely wonders that she is the senior biller. And she was apparently being groomed to take Immediate Supervisor's position (Office Manager/Human Resources), but Immediate Supervisor has been there for twenty-five years and they weren't going to let her go (and I can see why--she rocks). And frankly, my skull threatens to shatter into a billion pieces when I imagine Teeth, with her lack of social skills, in that job.

I mean, Christ on a cracker, think that one through. The mind boggles.

Yet despite her tenure, I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps the Powers That Be aren't contriving to collect enough evidence against Teeth to permanently extract her. As I said, this just hasn't been her best week. I don't think "the chat" has been had yet, because a) she hasn't let on, and I can't imagine that she is sophisticated enough to hide her resentment for me, and b) she still makes off-colour remarks (why, just yesterday she actually made the tired old double entendre about the Big Mac's "special sauce" when Wolf Woman walked in with a cheeseburger).

But today, Immediate Supervisor was riding her ass like a stubborn donkey and quickly losing patience. And Teeth was not taking the correction particularly well. Tension was quite high on that side of the old pod this afternoon, I must say. And Teeth, in a fit of frustration, actually said something like, "I gotta find something better to do" (although not within Immediate Supervisor's earshot).

So I don't know. But I'll keep you posted...in my pyjamas.